Lost And Found
by sadlady
Summary: Bodie makes a wrong decision and Doyle makes it right


Usual Disclaimer

I don't own the characters of Bodie and Doyle, or any others from the TV series. They belong to Mark One Productions and Brian Clemens.

I borrow them to write fiction for my own (and hopefully your) pleasure, with no financial gain to myself or anyone else.

**Lost and Found**

You gave me everything  
and now I'm breaking your heart  
you know that I don't mean  
to tear your world apart

(It's Over – Level 42)

Bodie's head hit the mat with a sickening thump. He lay there briefly, not unconscious but definitely dazed. Towser hurried across to the sink and ran some water over a towel, returning to the prostrate form and wiping Bodie's face and neck. Macklin strode over, saying nothing, but even he looked worried.

"Bodie! You OK?" His voice was surprisingly gentle, and he ran his fingers over Bodie's head.

"Nothing broken. It's not like you to misjudge such a move."

Bodie sat up gingerly, probing his sore head.

"I'm fine. Just lost my concentration for a sec." He got up stiffly and made his way to a chair where his towel lay. He turned to Macklin and said "D'you mind if we call it a day? I feel sick!"

Macklin stared at the big man with a thoughtful expression.

"Well, I guess we can this once. Wait there."

Macklin strode across to his office at the back of the gym. He went in and shut the door. He picked up the phone and dialled a number.

"Betty? Is he there? I need to speak to him urgently. And tell Doyle to come pick his mate up. Thanks." He waited briefly, tucking the receiver under his chin.

"Ah hello sir. Just think you should know. 3.7 is way off being passed fit for duty . . . no he's smacked his head badly, but it's more than that. His mind's elsewhere. He's not thinking. And he's sluggish, reaction time is bordering on the unacceptable for CI5. If I was Doyle, I wouldn't want him watching my back."

Macklin reached across and pulled a notepad towards him. He scribbled a few notes and then spoke again.

"At least a week off. Full medical and although I hate to say it, he may need to speak to Dr Ross." Macklin grinned at the invective that flowed down the line. "Fair enough sir, but that's my recommendation." He replaced the receiver and went back to the gym.

Bodie was dressed, ready to leave. He waved half heartedly to Macklin and Towser.

"See you guys tomorrow," he said.

Macklin caught up with him, and laid a hand on his shoulder. With the other, he deftly removed the car keys dangling from Bodie's other hand.

"Sorry Bodie. Cowley says you're off duty for the next week, until we can sort you out . . . and Doyle's coming to pick you up. You're not to drive until you've been checked out by the doctor."

Bodie's brows knit together and his blue eyes darkened.

"I'm fine," he said brusquely. "It was just a mistimed fall. You're making too much out of it."

Macklin smiled at the angry young man.

"Bodie, your reflexes are shit at the moment. You can barely fight your way out of a wet paper bag! You're slow and clumsy. In short my lad, you are a danger to yourself and Doyle."

Bodie's shoulders slumped. He knew that Macklin was right, but once it been put into words it sounded so harsh.

He looked at Macklin sheepishly.

"OK, OK . . ." his words were drowned out by a car door slamming and a cheerful exchange of banter. The door to the gym opened, and Doyle bounced in, grinning happily, curly hair framing his face.

"C'mon sunshine, let's get you home."

Bodie looked surprised.

"What's got you all fired up?"

Doyle's grin widened.

"A week off mate, looking after you, driving you to your, ahem, appointments."

Bodie just stared at his partner and without saying a word, turned on his heel and walked out.

Once in the car Doyle's insouciant air disappeared. He drove silently and quickly through London past Bodie's flat and out towards some abandoned warehouses by the Thames. After a while, he turned off the main road and headed down to a piece of waste ground near Greenwich. He bumped the car down an unmade up road and eventually stopped in a deserted riverside yard.

As the engine cooled down, he turned and faced his partner.

"What's goin' on mate?"

Bodie stared out of the window. He shrugged his shoulders.

"Nothing. Just not feeling the full ticket at the moment. Probably tired. It's been a long few weeks. Need to recharge my batteries."

Doyle gazed at the other man through clear green eyes. He steepled his fingers together and pursed his lips.

"No, you're not gettin' away with that sunshine. Last week, I nearly got the living daylights beaten outta me by Charlie Jackson 'cos you were late in coming in. I rely on you Bodie, to cover me . . . you've never let me down, and I won't let you start."

Bodie looked at his partner and made to start with a crisp retort. To Doyle's surprise it never happened. Bodie just sunk lower in the seat, all the fight gone from him.

"Fancy a beer?" he said.

Doyle started the car and drove back into Greenwich. He found a space near the Trafalgar pub, and the pair of them walked in. Bodie gestured to the tables outside on the balcony. Doyle nodded, and Bodie walked through to find a table. While Doyle was at the bar, he watched the Thames flow slowly towards the sea, and thought about events over the past week.

It had started a couple of months ago: Bodie had been working undercover, trying to get some information about a possible assassination attempt on a minor French official with important connections in China. The mission had gone badly, and Bodie had been injured – a knife wound which had been left untreated due to the fact he was imprisoned in a dank cellar. By the time he had been found, the wound was suppurating and his temperature was 41C. He spent the next week in hospital, fighting septicaemia while the wound began to heal. He could briefly remember, while drifting in and out of consciousness, Cora watching him, her dark hair framing her pale face, and her gentle quiet voice talking to him, her Irish lilt almost singing her words.

Cora. The beautiful and free spirited woman he had met one May Day. Theirs had been an instant and deep connection that had lasted despite their very different lives. Cora had been busy with her work, often travelling abroad. When they did manage to spend time together, Bodie felt as though his very soul was renewed. With her calm and grounded outlook, she had succeeded where many other women and tried and failed. She gave Bodie the peace of mind that had been missing from his life. He knew that he would never find such a feeling with anyone else. With her he had learnt the art of love making, rather than the meaningless sexual encounters which he'd mistaken for love, and perhaps thought that was all he wanted.

He thought back to the slow, painful weeks of recuperation, how she had quietly and efficiently cleaned and replaced the dressing, held his head when he took the antibiotics that were so strong they made him sick, and then cleaned that up.

What bothered him so much was that it wasn't the first time Cora had administered such care on him. He truly held their time together as the most precious thing he had, but it was becoming eroded by his job . . . and the job still held a fascination for him which he couldn't let go.

Eventually he had reached a decision, which he felt would save her from any further worry. He recalled that awful day, and had hated himself ever since.

". . . Cora," he said softly cupping her face, "you know it's for the best. How many times have you had the phone call the middle of the night from Cowley? How often have I woken to find you sitting beside the bed in some faceless hospital? The evenings out, ruined by a call to duty?" His voice wavered slightly. "The times I had to let you down at the last minute? . . . "

"I don't want you to live like that. I can't offer you any guarantees. The job is relentless and unforgiving, but," he paused and looked down at her delicate features, "I'm convinced it's worth it. So I'm going to carry on." Cora placed a small finger against his lips. She laid her cheek against the dark stubble of his chin, and looked up at him.

"Bodie, you must do what you think is best," she replied quietly. "For my part, what you do is not a problem; the fear of losing you is. However if you feel that your concern for my feelings is becoming a problem, then I understand." The hurt in her eyes had almost reduced him to tears.

She had turned away quickly and gone inside the house. Bodie had called out that he was walking down the lane to the pub to book a table for dinner. By the time he returned, Cora had packed her bags and left. Never had he felt so alone.

His sad reverie ended with the appearance of Doyle, carrying two beers. He sat down and pushed a glass across to Bodie.

"So, are you going to tell me what's goin' on or not?"

Bodie took a sip of his pint, and still staring out at the water, told Doyle the story so fresh in his mind.

"I'm sure I made the right decision mate. I couldn't put her through it again. In this job there are no guarantees. There might not be a 'next time', but then again there could be. I know what we do is right and I'm convinced of that. It's just that some time," his voice wavered slightly, "I want a rest from it all."

Doyle listened quietly. He agreed with his partner, and with only a slight trace of bitterness, thought of his own failed relationships. Unconsciously he ran his finger around the silver neck chain, until he found the small diamond ring he had given to Laura when they got engaged. She had handed it back four months later, after he returned from an undercover operation that had taken him away for two months, and kept him out of contact all that time.

Doyle sipped his pint, and watched his friend. Cowley had told Doyle of Macklin's assessment, and privately Doyle was relieved that someone had picked up on Bodie's mental state. Recently, his partner had become listless and inattentive. It was unthinkable that Bodie would not be able to do the job, but Doyle had noticed the small errors in judgement, the hesitation in action. He had said nothing, waiting to see if it was the result of Bodie's recent injury. Now he knew it wasn't, and he felt oddly ill at ease with the knowledge.

He also knew better than to make any light, flippant comment. Usually Bodie's 'women trouble' provided hours of fun, risqué comment and full scale teasing. Cora was different. Doyle had dated her sister Mia for a while, a joyous meeting of minds and bodies, but one that was always going to be fleeting. On the occasions when Cora and Bodie got together it was like a perfect storm. All the elements, emotional, physical and mental were completely attuned.

Doyle noticed that Bodie had been less interested in taking home a girl after a date than before. Secretly he was pleased his friend had apparently found his match. Doyle, always the more romantic of the two, believed everyone had a soul mate. He thought Bodie had found his, even if he didn't realise it.

The following week was difficult for both men. Doyle, in between driving Bodie to various medical appointments, found himself bored stiff with the enforced inaction. The interminable sitting around while Bodie was poked and prodded, injected and x-rayed, did little to improve his temper. In the end he could be found sitting in whichever waiting area at whichever clinic Bodie had been sent to, eyes closed and seemingly deep in thought. After one such appointment Bodie, bad tempered and miserable had snapped at his friend.

"C'mon Doyle wake up – it's not like I asked for this! Sorry if I'm keeping you from more important things – like rearranging your record collection!" Doyle had opened his eyes, stared and said nothing. Bodie stared at the ground and muttered an apology before pushing his way out of the room and back to the car.

The final straw came when Doyle received a schedule to drive Bodie to meet with Dr Ross.

"I'm not fucking going," retorted the big man when told of his latest appointment, "all my tests are clear. There's nothing wrong with me."

Doyle sighed and shook his head.

"That's why you've got to see Ross. It's the last resort. Just tell her what she wants to hear, let her tell Cowley, he'll ignore her and we can all get on with life," was his considered opinion.

"She plays those stupid mind games all the time," Bodie growled back. "She's not happy unless she can pinpoint some fucking childhood trauma - and I could write a book on those!"

Doyle's eyes narrowed and he fell silent. He absentmindedly ran his finger along his bottom lip.

"Of course," he reasoned, "there is another option. You could always go and sort it out directly with Cora."

Bodie opened and closed his mouth soundlessly. His eyes widened with surprise and for a second Doyle regretted his comment. Bodie's love life was an open book, and he happily shared his conquests with his partner. However, Cora was off limits: that side of Bodie's life was intensively private, and usually Doyle respected that privacy. This time though, he had taken matters into his own hands.

Doyle had carefully observed his partner over the past few days. Armed with the background knowledge which Bodie had divulged, Doyle had trawled through his address book until he found Mia's number. He had called her and asked her for Cora's number. Mia, ever mindful of her sister's wellbeing had initially refused. She told him how sad Cora had become, how much she missed Bodie, and was trying to reconcile herself to a life apart. Mia said her sister was a strong and passionate woman, but until Bodie, she had never fallen in love. She thought they would always be together, even given their very different lifestyles. When Bodie had made his decision to stay with CI5, Cora had left.

"He made the decision Ray! She never had a say in the matter! He never even asked her to choose – he just did what he does best . . . looking out for himself! Well it's his loss! She saw something in his soul that she was prepared to fight for; but he left!"

Doyle had to use all his powers of persuasion on his ex, and eventually, she relented, knowing that Doyle would only use the information to try and put things right.

So it was that Doyle disobeyed a direct order to take Bodie for a consultation with Dr Ross, and Bodie didn't query the flagrant defiance of Cowley's directive.

Before setting off, they both paid brief visits to their respective flats, where they packed the bare essentials for an overnight stay. They spent a quiet couple of hours driving towards the West Country. Bodie sat, deep in thought, while Doyle wondered if he had just kissed goodbye to his career with CI5.

They stopped briefly at Ringwood, where they sat in a nondescript cafe drinking lukewarm coffee and munching through a plate of cheese sandwiches. Bodie buried his nose in a newspaper, more as a device to avoid answering Doyle's interminable question 'are you OK mate?' Doyle stared out the window, watching the huge lorries roll up, and shudder to a halt, their drivers jumping down from the cabs to purchase hot coffee and burgers. He glanced at his watch and tapped Bodie on the arm.

Together the partners walked back to the car. The weather was warm and sunny, completely at odds with the moods of both men. Doyle started the engine and the powerful motor pulled out onto the road. The remainder of the journey passed uneventfully. Apart from a short delay due to a minor traffic accident, they made good time. A little after three in the afternoon, the agents drew up outside a little cottage in Bigbury on Sea. Doyle shut off the engine and turned to face his friend.

"Well, we're here," he said unnecessarily. Seeing the look on Bodie's face he decided against further comment.

"I'm going to take a walk down to the beach, dabble me toes in the sea. Use the RT if you need me." With that, Doyle eased himself out of the car and sauntered down the road.

Bodie sat for several minutes wondering what the hell he was doing. He wasn't given to introspection and discussions of his feelings. If he had to define himself he would say he loved women, Liverpool Football Club, Ray Doyle (although he tempered this with the epithet 'cos no one else would) and his job.

How Cora had managed to get through his defences was a complete mystery to him. Why he had treated her so badly could only be explained by not wanting to hurt her. He remembered only too well how Cookie's wife had reacted when Doyle had broken the news of her husband's death. He remembered how pale Doyle had looked on his return to HQ, and the livid handprint across his cheek where she had hit him. He never wanted Cora to experience such pain. His thoughts continued to drift around his head, as light and formless as the air he breathed.

Eventually he got out of the car and walked down the short path to the cottage. As he reached for the knocker, the door flew open and Cora fell into his arms. She held his face in her hands, covering his mouth with kisses. He stood there transfixed by her welcome, before enfolding her in his arms.

Betty was not having such a peaceful time. Dr Ross had telephoned advising that Bodie had not turned up for his appointment. She began her litany of why he should be removed from duty, endless rehashed comments she made to anyone who would listen. Betty, bright and usually cheerful began to wilt under the unending stream of psychobabble.

Finally, Cowley, annoyed at the length of time his efficient PA appeared to be chatting on the phone, stomped through the door of his office. His granite expression merely added to Betty's woes. She mouthed 'Dr Ross' at him, and was relieved to see her boss pick up the extension and take over the conversation.

"Dr Ross, what appears to be the problem? Yes, yes, I'm aware he was supposed to see you this morning, but I had to call him in for an urgent meeting. No, he's away on an errand for me. Yes doctor, it is important. I don't send my staff on pointless forays! You'll have to reschedule the time. I apologise for not letting you know – my fault entirely. Thank you." He ended the call and banged the phone down.

"I suppose no one knows where 3.7 is do they? And I guess 4.5 is also in on this disappearing trick! They'd better have a good reason for causing me to talk to that woman or they'll both be on permanent secondment to Traffic!"

He eyed his secretary and barked.

"I don't suppose you'd tell me even if you knew."

Betty, seeing the concern behind the gruff tone replied.

"Wherever they are sir, they're trying to work something out. My guess is Bodie refused to see the doctor, and Doyle saw a solution."

Cowley looked at her shrewdly.

"Do you thing it involves Bodie's personal life?"

"I do sir. Most definitely."

She was astounded to see the look of unutterable sadness that touched her boss's face. Cowley thought about the decision he'd made to follow the path of duty, rather than love, and how despite the unqualified success of his career, he still went home to an empty apartment.

"Well," he said almost to himself, "let's hope he makes the right decision."

Doyle was immersed in thought as he waded in and out of the waves that gently tickled his toes. He was oblivious to the admiring glances he elicited as he wandered up and down the beach. He took no notice of the blatant stares of some women, being more concerned about his friend and his own future, having purposely disobeyed Cowley. Despite being the most overdressed man on the beach, Doyle still knocked spots off the competition. Jeans rolled up and his shirt now casually tied round his waist, he presented a sight indeed for the female contingent, sunbathing or relaxing. He carried on his path through the small waves, before coming to a rocky outcrop. He rested against it, and looked across the bay. _In different times_ he thought, _this is where I want to live._

Two young women, walking across from Burgh Island, eyed him up, one giving a low whistle of approval. She nodded towards him as her friend giggled. Doyle didn't even look their way.

"He is downright gorgeous," said one.

"He is downright wonderful," said the other. "Wonder where he's staying. Love to know what colour his eyes are. Shame he's got his sunglasses on."

"Shame he's still got his clothes on," sniggered her friend. "Wouldn't mind stroking that chest, either," she continued.

The other woman gave a low laugh. "Wouldn't mind going a bit lower," she replied lasciviously.

"Dirty cow," was the response. Both women laughed happily and continued to walk towards the mainland.

Bodie was standing in the kitchen looking out of the big window, towards the sea. He still had Cora wrapped in his arms, almost afraid to let her go. They had said very little, both just enjoying the physical nearness of each other. Gently, Cora broke away, and went to fill the kettle. She busied herself making tea, taking pleasure in making two cups of the brew, rather than one for herself.

Together they sat down at the long wooden table. The kitchen was warm and bright from the afternoon sun. Bodie looked across at her, taking in the dark shadows under her eyes. He gently traced his finger across her cheek, catching an errant tear, spilling down her face.

"Am I responsible for this?" he asked, rubbing the salty fluid between his fingers.

"I'm just pleased you're here, lover, but wonderin' why?" she replied.

"Blame Doyle. It was his idea," Bodie replied.

"That man knows you better than you know yourself," she replied.

Bodie gave a sad smile.

"Good job someone does." He fell silent, although Cora could see he was trying to form thoughts into words.

Finally he spoke.

"I came to say sorry, and to see if I can mend what I've broken. I never, ever meant to hurt you. I thought that by leaving you, giving you freedom to find someone else who wouldn't always let you down . . . would be more of a regular bloke . . . was the right thing to do. In my line of work I may not make old bones – it's not fair to you to have to live with that . . . "

He got no further, as Cora put hand across his mouth, silencing his words. He breathed in her perfume, a light floral note.

"Bodie. The decision to stay with you is mine. I know your job is dangerous; I know you have to do things that would make other men question their humanity; but I accept all that, because the man underneath is worth fighting for. We'll take the time we have and make it our own. I love you and that means I take you on knowing all those things you want to protect me from."

She closed her eyes, the strain of the past few weeks leaching the colour from her face. Slowly she reached for her tea and took a sip. Her hand stole across the table and stroked the skin on Bodie's wrist. He sat there dazed and overwhelmed by this woman's strength. Together they stood up and quietly moved towards the door. Both knew how the short journey to the bedroom would end and how much it meant.

The afternoon was gently sliding into evening. The beach was less crowded, as people made their way back to the village. Lights appeared at the various apartments and chalets that lined the beach. Doyle pulled his shirt back on, feeling the cotton slide across lightly suntanned shoulders. He climbed the steps from the beach to the road, and paused to brush the sand from his feet. He walked slowly towards the car, still parked outside Cora's house. The house was in darkness. Doyle smiled to himself, and unlocked the car, ready to book himself into a motel for the night. He was just about to drive away, when he caught sight of Cora, at the window. She was waving him towards the house.

He killed the engine and got back out of the vehicle. Cora opened the door and ran to meet him. She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him hard on the cheek. Doyle chuckled and held her at arm's length. His green eyes twinkled as one look at Cora told her exactly what had gone on between his friend and this young woman.

They walked back into the kitchen hand in hand, companionable friends. Cora opened a bottle of wine, and deftly put together a quick meal. Cheese, pickles, homemade bread and golden butter appeared on the table top, along with a bowl of fresh fruit.

They sat together quietly eating, as the sky went through a myriad of colours from the deep red and orange of the setting sun, to the purple and inky blue of evening. Stars began to appear, random points of light as if someone had scattered glitter in the sky.

"Bodie asleep?" asked Doyle, swirling the last of his wine around the glass.

Cora nodded a slow smile on her face.

"He is indeed my dear. So tired. Through to the core. He fell asleep almost as soon as he'd got into bed."

Doyle raised an eyebrow at this, but thought better than to comment. Cora however, was more forthcoming. She gently smacked his wrist.

"I did say 'almost' Doyle! There was an hour or so beforehand when he was more, forthcoming!" She looked Doyle in the eye daring him to say anything. Then she collapsed with laughter, tears of merriment running down her face.

"Oh Doyle it was wonderful. I've missed him so much." She grasped Doyle's hand tightly.

"So things are OK now?" he asked.

"Ray, we're fine," she replied. "Thank you for bringing him here. Will you stay for a couple of days? Bodie needs to rest; not only his body, but his mind too. There's enough room for you as well. The other bedroom is all ready for you."

Doyle went back for the small bag he'd left in the car, and returned to the house. It was nearly eleven at night, and he was tired out from the effects of the long drive and the sun. Cora showed him to the bedroom, kissed the tip of his nose and left him alone.

Doyle stripped off his clothes and took a warm shower, washing away the sand and grime from the day. The water soothed his shoulders where they had caught the sun. He switched off the tap and wrapped a towel around his waist. He walked out on to the verandah and sat down. He sighed heavily and stared out across the bay. Knowing he couldn't put off his next task any longer, he went back into the cottage in search of a phone.

He'd delayed such an action, but he knew he had to contact HQ. _Not necessarily Cowley,_ he thought, _although the old man never seemed to sleep. _He dialled a number he knew off by heart.

"This is 4.5, Is Alpha 1 available?"

"Hold on 4.5, putting you through."

"4.5! It's nearly midnight! You'd better have a good reason for disturbing me laddie . . . and a very good reason for your and 3.7's disappearance! Well?

Doyle spent the next few minutes explaining to his very irate boss exactly what he'd done, and why. When he finished there was a long silence. So long that Doyle thought Cowley had purposely left him on the end of the line. Eventually there was a long sigh, and a strangely subdued Cowley began to talk.

"Aye, well if Bodie has managed to sort out his complicated love life, and it has a positive result on his work, we'll say no more about it. You've still got two days left, so I suggest that you tell Master Bodie that he makes absolutely sure this type of behaviour won't happen again . . . for both your sakes!"

Doyle breathed a sigh of relief.

"And Doyle?" the old man sounded tired; "sometimes you have to break the rules to solve the problem. Well done laddie, and goodnight." The line went dead.

Doyle put down the phone and padded down the hall to his room. He passed Cora's room. The door was open. Bodie was lying so still Doyle waited for the rise and fall of his friend's chest just to make sure he was still alive. Next to him, with her arm across Bodie's belly, was Cora, her long dark hair fanned out over her shoulders. Both of them were sound asleep.

Doyle went to his own room and dropped the towel on the floor. Climbing naked in to bed, he was asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow.

Cora woke in the morning and was surprised to be alone in the bed. She pulled on Bodie's shirt, which for some reason was lying on the floor, and made her way into the kitchen. There was a mug of tea, still hot and someone had been busy toasting bread. The back door was wide open and the sun's rays caught the dust motes in the air as they drifted lazily in the warm breeze. Cora looked at the kitchen clock and was amazed to see it was ten thirty. She had slept nearly twelve hours! The cottage was silent, gently basking in the warmth. She took the mug and wandered outside. She supposed Bodie and Doyle had gone out – after all, she knew they were absent without leave, and needed to square things with their boss.

She was rather surprised then to see two figures at the end of the long garden. She walked quietly down the path towards them. Both men were talking quietly as she approached, although they stopped as soon as they sensed her presence.

Knowing her man's preference for being sartorially attired at all times, she was surprised to see Bodie sitting on the lawn, clad only in a pair of jeans. It also answered the question as to why his shirt was on the floor. His broad back was turned towards the sun, drinking in the heat. The scar from the knife wound, showed red against the pale skin. He turned round, and with a shy smile, waved to her.

"You're taking a leaf out of Ray's book then," she replied, nodding towards Doyle, who as usual had dispensed with his T shirt, was shoeless and lying on his back.

"Morning love," he said, "Doyle thought we'd have a breakfast picnic." He gestured to the pile of toast and jar of marmalade sitting on a bench. "Just wanted to feel the sun for once. Don't get many opportunities in our job!"

Cora sat down. She ran her hand down Bodie's chest, drinking in the creamy skin and small brown nipples. She felt his stomach muscles contract slightly as her hand brushed over the very faint line of dark hair that started below his belly button. Bodie then gave the quietest of sighs. She smiled to herself, knowing that such a simple gesture could reduce this big, strong man to a quivering heap in the privacy of their bedroom.

"Shall I leave?" asked Doyle, eyes shut, but clearly aware of the intimacy that was taking place next to him.

Cora laughed happily.

"No need to my love," she answered, "but I'd appreciate it if you didn't encourage Bodie to divest himself publicly, of his clothes. Might scare the wildlife, and," she added wickedly, "I don't share my toys!"

Bodie had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. For a man with his background and experiences, he was strangely modest about showing off his body. Unlike Doyle who had turned flaunting into high art, Bodie rarely went so far as to undo a top button.

The three of them sat quietly in the garden, looking out over the blue sea.

Doyle told them of his call to HQ the previous night. Not quite in Cowley's bad books, but both men knew their actions would not be tolerated again.

"He knows something's up anyway," said Doyle, "he sounded different . . . almost relieved."

"Probably got something 'orrible lined up for when we get back then," replied his partner. "He doesn't bear grudges, but he'll let us know we're out of line. Anyway, it's your fault," he continued, "your idea."

"Thanks," said Doyle mildly. "Remind me not to bother next time you're out of sorts." He threw a crust at Bodie's head.

"There won't be a next time," said Cora firmly. She looked at both men. "Bodie knows where he stands with me, and that there'll be time for us whenever he wants it." Her chin tilted upwards, challenging either of them to disagree with her.

"Looks like you've pulled, mate," commented Doyle, before he was attacked by both Cora and Bodie, mercilessly tickling and pummelling him in response to his words.

They spent the remainder of the day following their own pursuits. Doyle, sensing it was polite not to hang around, took the car and drove to Noss Mayo, where he bought pencils and a pad, and spent the rest of the day outside the pub, sketching the harbour. He picked up a takeaway on his return to Bigbury, having thoughtfully telephoned first to save them all from any awkwardness.

Bodie was sitting in the living room, wrapped in a slightly too small mauve dressing gown. He was showered with his hair freshly washed, and he looked about ten years old. The look of delight on his face at the enormous bag of prawn crackers was worth all the effort of the past few days. Cora produced plates and a bottle of wine and the three of them tucked in to the food.

The following day, Doyle waited in the car while Bodie and Cora said their farewells. From the spring in his step as Bodie left the cottage, Doyle concluded that the strain of the past few days had gone, and the old Bodie was back. _Oh well,_ he thought, _better the devil you know . . ._


End file.
